Tinted Life
by pinkdoom
Summary: He goes to visit her every week...time after time, without failure. His routine never changes...and he always leaves feeling the same. He leaves, and her cries whip through the trees, haunting him. So this time, it will be different.


_Pretty maids all in a row _

_Suddenly knocked down by a stiff wind _

_One by one they fall _

_From the grace gifted to them  
  
It's hot where the sun doesn't shine _

_And it's raining from a cloudless sky;  
__The river's running black with secrets _

_And the trees are crying with despair  
_  
Old. The entire place smelled old. Old memories, old souls. It didn't matter that many of the graves had new autumn flowers planted beside them, or fresh bouquets of blossoms placed nearby. He wasn't sure if the smell was offending..but it was there, prevalent over everything that had been done to make the cemetery inviting to mourners, and those with memories that wouldn't let go.  
  
The stiff September wind was particularly cruel this , brittle, and biting. It cut right through his jacket, and even seeped into his gloves. It played with his hair, twisting pieces around each other in a mess that no comb could fight through. The wind nearly knocked the small package out of his hands, and he held it tightly against his body, protecting it against the mischievous gusts. The wind swept back through the few trees scattered amongst the graves, whistling and whining in eerie tones.  
  
_Decisions made too quickly _

_Anger came too swiftly _

_And left nothing in its wake But a dreaded peace, a sense of calm _

_That really doesn't belong  
_  
He stopped at the sound of a cry...a trick of the wind, he told himself. But the more he listened, the more it sounded like a faint sob, so sad and painful...the same sob he heard every time he came here. Leaves swirled as he kept walking...it was only a little farther. That sound broke his heart....he knew it was her, crying for everything they had lost. Everyone they had lost. She haunted this place as much as she haunted his dreams....he saved her over and over again, every night for a thousand nights...he was her savior. Her protector. And every night he woke up to the sound of an empty room, his heart beating wildly...  
  
_Left to wander dusty paths _

_Mind an endless void _

_Sand flies in eyes _

_That have been dry for a long time _

_Done crying, done shedding tears _

_That's in the past  
  
_The grave was nestled by a maple tree, offset by larger, more extravagant stones. The granite and brass marker was simple, beautiful, and exactly her. She would have hated having a monstrosity of hardened metal and overpolished marble on her resting place. He knelt down and placed his gift on grave, directly underneath her name. It was a picture of them, taken shortly before her death. He had mounted it in a frame and was going to give it to her for Christmas, but never got the chance. He stared at their photographed selves...smiling, waving, laughing. Times that had passed, he told himself. You have your memories...it's more than nothing.  
  
_Easy come, easy go _

_It all makes sense in the end _

_Until someone boggles the mind _

_Betwitches the heart _

_Steals the soul _

_Empty vessel? _

_Maybe _

_But the heart still beats _

_Just at a different rhythm _

_And the song has changed _

_Someone switched the music _

_And now he's dancing to the new tune  
  
_He stood, brushing soil and leaves off the knees of his trousers. He looked one last time at the photo, kissed the top of the headstone, and walked away. He'd done this every week for the past three months...and he never changed his routine. Until today...the photo. And her crying, for once, had stopped, as he walked back down the paved path, past graves and mausoleums. The simple and the lavish. But all had a purpose...to remember a loved one who had passed. Those who had died in their sleep, with family there to the end...and those who had died saving someone from an evil. Like her.  
  
The wind crept back up behind him and sunk clear to his bones...but for once, he wasn't cold. Somehow, he knew that leaving that photo had helped her...and had given him the strength to walk away from her grave with a few more bits of peace and understanding. She had died saving him...he'd do all he could to make sure she was remembered.  
  
_Yesterday is left behind _

_Tomorrow has yet to come _

_Still walking that dusty path _

_But not alone anymore _

_For those maids have joined the quest _

_After their fall from grace....  
  
_Ron met him at the gates, staring past him to her grave. "You okay?"  
  
Harry nodded. "For once, it's not so bad."  
  
Ron cocked an ear into the wind and smiled sadly. "She's not crying today, mate."  
  
Harry threw an arm around his best friend and said, "I think she'll be okay for a while, Ron. She's got a picture of us now. Somehow, I think it's helped us both this time." He took one look back and whispered, "See you next week, Hermione."  
  
_Is it easier now? _

_Perhaps _

_There's still miles to go _


End file.
